Culture Shock Ch. 08

“And I mean it,” said Gary. “I don’t want to hear any more self-deprecating remarks, okay? Things like, ‘I can’t do it, ‘ or ‘I’m not good enough, ‘ or ‘I’m not pretty.’ They’re all out, got it?”

Elaine blinked. “Yes, Sir,” she typed back quickly. She waited for him to respond, sensing he was gathering his thoughts. It gave her a moment to make a decision. She’d walk taller after tonight. She almost giggled as she wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She tried to relax while she waited.

He used silence very effectively.

“I have passionate convictions.”

Elaine felt her head nodding. “Yes, Sir.”

“I understand the vanilla ways in which you think. By that, I mean the ways you have been taught all your life to respond to situations and questions. Saying you are not beautiful when you clearly are, is considered to be ‘humble’ in the vanilla world. It’s a valued thing. So I know you weren’t intentionally lying. I understand that.”

“Yes, Sir.” Elaine took a deep breath. “Thank you.”

“It’s all right. You have a good heart, Elaine. Until I’m proved wrong, if anyone asks, I’ll tell them you are beautiful inside and out. So you better get used to it.”

“You’re good for my ego.”

“Good,” he messaged, adding a smile. “Perhaps we should call it a night and get some sleep.”

“I don’t want to go yet. I’m still formulating a response.”

“A response? I’m shocked,” he sent, then winked.

Elaine smiled. “I’m just a bit blown away, is all. I want to thank you for what you said, though.”

“I think I almost botched it. All I meant to say was, ‘ I think you are very attractive’. I could have been a little more diplomatic.”

“But I learned a valuable lesson.”

“Which was?”

“I learned that you like the way I look. And you really meant it. Knowing you were pleased has made my night.”

“Sometimes you sound like you are a hundred, Elaine. You have wisdom beyond your years.”

She beamed. “Thank you, Sir.”

Gary insisted Elaine go to bed. With an eight-thirty class in the morning and after having had a late night the night before, he pulled rank on her. “As a friend, you should expect me to take an interest in your self-improvement. As a Dominant, you should expect me to tell you when you screw up. And I’ll offer advice too. In some cases you may rather not listen, but it will be well meaning.”

Elaine smiled. “Yes, Sir. I appreciate you taking an interest in me.”

“Well said.”

“I’ll always listen though.”

“And I’ll always give you a chance to change my mind about something.”

“Deal,” typed Elaine. She wondered if Gary was smiling at the screen too.

“Now get to bed.” His message was followed by a wink again.

“Yes, Sir,” she typed, grinning. “I hope to see you soon.”

“I’m sure you will.”

As she always did, she sent a goodbye into the chat room and watched and smiled as everyone farewelled her generously. In her mind’s eye she saw Gary sitting back in his chair thinking, just as she was.

When she clicked out of the chat room and started closing windows, she found Gary’s picture. She’d forgotten it was there. Staring into his incredible eyes, Elaine allowed her mind to wander. Calling him ‘Sir’ seemed almost effortless now. How she called anyone ‘Sir’ in the first place was almost beyond her. A teacher in high school had insisted on being called ‘Sir’. At the time she’d thought it was archaic and outdated, a throwback to a simpler, more male-dominated time. Like the fifties or something.

As she studied Gary’s face, she also wondered how the female Dominants fitted in. There was nothing Fifties-like about Dommes. Were they respected by the male Dominants? Was BDSM a modern movement? And what about feminism? Was there room for feminism in BDSM? She’d have to ask...

For some reason the words of Catherine in Wuthering Heights came to mind...

‘... the thing that irks me the most is this shattered prison. I’m tired, tired of being enclosed here. I’m wearying to escape into that glorious world, and to be always there, not seeing it dimly through tears, and yearning for it through the walls of an aching heart; but really with it, and in it.’

Did Emily Bronte desire a world unavailable to women today? Or was she referring to a state of mind, a shattered prison, perhaps something unfathomable in these days of legislated equality? Elaine understood the usual translation: that Catherine yearned for the freedom to choose her own destiny. But right at that moment, all she could think of was a new world, one opening its arms to her, one that offered exactly what Catherine seemed to be seeking.

She smiled at Gary’s picture.

Hmmm... So where did male submissives fit in? In philosophical terms, the male submissive was the anomaly. BDSM couldn’t really be sexist when males were ‘allowed’ to be submissive. Elaine briefly wondered how prevalent BDSM practices were in the gay community. Were male subs more female than male? What was it de Beauvoir said? ‘One is not born, but rather becomes a woman.’

Argh.

Elaine realised she was tired and her brain was not working well. Recalling such quotes out of context only proved to her she was ready for bed. And besides, she was in such a habit of looking at things in gender terms, she wondered which of her personas was doing the thinking: The vanilla one or the submissive one. No matter how flawed it may have seemed, every thought she had was coloured by her experience. She was beginning to see things differently.

“Good night, Sir,” she whispered, saving the picture and switching off her machine.

Perhaps ‘submissiveness’ was androgenous, Elaine thought, slipping between the sheets.

Her eyelids felt heavy.

She slept well.

****************************

Most of the Elaine’s spare time on Tuesday was spent trying to finish the first draft of her term paper for Philosophy 301. She was determined to write something on ‘Sartre and the Authentic State of Being’. She was hoping to impress her Professor, rather than open up the uncertainty that was bubbling away in the back of her mind.

And it was great. True to her original plan, she finished the paper as she’d envisaged, and was very pleased with the result. She was also pleased to see her general lack of conviction hadn’t been conveyed. Reading back her paper made her feel like a bit of a fraud, but she wasn’t going to change it. The paper was good, and a few edits and embellishments would make it great. Her Prof would be pleased.

Her classes were okay, but after Feminist Philosophy, Elaine felt even more disconnected. The tutorial discussion centred on the metaphysical question, ‘What is a woman?’ Her tutor gave her a couple of imploring looks when the various conversations went off on tangents. She tried to contribute a few times, but she had nothing new to offer. For someone usually involved in discussions, her silence was out of the ordinary.

For the first time in her life, Elaine realised some of her thoughts were a contradiction.

She wanted a man who treated her like a woman. She wanted to be treated as an equal. She wanted to genuinely be heard and have her concerns addressed. She wanted someone firm who provided her with direction. She didn’t want to be a doormat. Sometimes she wanted to be a toy.

As goose bumps rose on her arms, she shook her head and smiled.

She had to redefine herself.

And I have to do some reading , she resolved.

As usual, Accountancy in Business was crap. All it did was make her long for the end of the year. She would drop the last of her father’s expectations from her studies when she abandoned Accounting at the end of May. She dreaded telling him, and though he’d rant and rave, he’d still support her. She was still ‘Daddy’s girl’.

She realised she was starting to narrow down her alternatives drastically.

Ugh. I might have to teach.

**************************

Maybe her Dad would be okay. Elaine’s mother could be more of a problem. She’d always hoped Elaine would become a doctor, or at least some kind of scientist. Or a vet, Elaine thought as she turned the key, opening the door to her apartment. Their divorce should come through soon, she reminded herself.

After tossing her bag on the bed, she went to the kitchen to make a coffee before she started on her term paper for Feminist Philosophy. She still had a week till it was due and was pleased with herself for being a few days ahead of schedule. She passed Kendra who waved to her as she lay on her back in the living room, listening to music in headphones with a textbook resting on her stomach. Elaine waved back.

In the kitchen, Chelsea was busy chopping vegetables. “Feel like curry?” she asked. “I got some lamb.”

“Sounds great. Tomorrow we can finish off the spaghetti if you like.”

“Good plan.”

“Do you want a coffee?” Elaine asked.

Chelsea picked up her wine glass and showed it to Elaine before taking a sip. “Wine’s in the fridge if you want a glass. Help yourself.”

“Maybe later. Thanks.” After making her coffee, Elaine returned to her room.

An hour later Chelsea yelled out that dinner was ready and they sat down to eat.

Conversation around the table centred on school and lecturers and how boring it all became as the end of term neared. Kendra was trying to convince Chelsea to try out for the cheerleading squad next semester, but Chelsea had never wanted to associate ‘with those airheads’. Elaine thought Chelsea probably would have made it. She was blonde and tanned and moved like a cat. She could dance too.

Chelsea wouldn’t be moved. “I so don’t think so.”

“Think of the parties!” Kendra implored, as if it would make a difference.

“And the outfits!” Elaine teased.

Chelsea rolled her eyes. “Anyway, Elaine would make the squad before I did.”

Elaine’s mouth gaped. “I would not.”

“Sure you would. So could Kendra, but she’s too pushy.”

All Elaine could do was blush.

“My ass is way too big,” said Kendra.

“Oh, bullshit,” Chelsea said. “Look in the mirror. You look great.”

The conversation meandered in various directions, but Elaine was struck by Chelsea’s words to Kendra. Gary had said almost the exact same thing the night before. Elaine decided she would look in the mirror before she spoke with him that evening. Well, she hoped he’d be there. Elaine was grateful there were no more cheerleading suggestions. Not in a pink fit would she try out. She shook her head.

The curry had been demolished and Kendra was hard at work doing the dishes. Elaine excused herself, heading back to her room to study. Stopping in the bathroom to brush her teeth, for a moment she was mesmerised by the image in front of her.

She leaned forward, placing her hands on the edge of the sink and studiing her face. Turning her head a little one way, then the other, she couldn’t decide whether she was pretty or not. Staring into her own eyes, she thought they were her best feature. She checked for blemishes and had to admit her skin was pretty good. She thought her lips were maybe a little full, but full lips were all the rage these days. My hair could do with a trim, she thought, fiddling with it in the mirror. And maybe a colour. The package wasn’t bad. But ‘beautiful’? Oh, I don’t know. I give up. She brushed her teeth and headed to her room.

Pausing before the mirror over her dresser, she gazed at herself again. She liked what she saw. And she was proud of herself. She’d shut the fact of her nakedness out of her mind today. Mostly. Well, she had to. As it was, the dark grey skirt she wore would have stained if it weren’t for the built-in liner.

Only when Professor Malcolm Sartori appeared to take an uncharacteristic interest in her chest had Elaine been reminded of her bralessness. She’d gone for the two-tanks look, a looser one over a tight one, hoping for both support and some camouflage. If Professor Sartori weren’t so good looking, she probably could have ignored it. For the remaining five minutes of the class, she imagined all kinds of things. She even had the bizarre thought of flashing him, but she didn’t.

Her nipples tingled as she disrobed, but she didn’t dare touch them. Grabbing her nightie, she turned her back on the mirror and changed, resolving to get some work done and ignore the excitement bubbling away in the background. Booting up her computer, for the next hour and a half Elaine posted responses in the Philosophy forum and worked on her Accountancy project. She wasn’t in the mood for Feminism.

As nine o’clock approached, she started getting edgy. At ten to nine, she packed away her textbooks and clicked out of the college website. Saving what she’d done and closing her Accountancy project, she opened Messenger and waited impatiently, biting her lip.

She was watching the clock when it ticked over to nine P.M. Her nipples were itchy and she pinched them, making them spring to life. A rush of adrenaline washed over her skin, the silky hairs standing up. She clenched her pussy in anticipation, squeezing her legs together and balling her fists.

“Hello, Elaine,” popped up on her screen, the very instant he logged in.

After a short moment, he typed, “Are you okay? I sense something is on your mind.”

How did he do that? “I’m not allowed to lie, am I?”

“I’m afraid not. Would you rather I go?”

“NO!” Elaine almost squealed aloud! “No, Sir. Please don’t go. This is where I want to be. With you.”

“Good,” he typed, sending a smile.

“I’m just very excited. That’s all.”

“Sexually, you mean?”

Elaine took a deep breath. “Yes.”

“I’d like you to concentrate. Open your knees an inch, no clenching, no touching. Okay?”

“Yes,” Elaine was struck by her need to do as he asked. “Yes, Sir.”

“And sit up straight.”

She did. She usually did. “How did you know I was slumped?”

“I didn’t know. I guessed.”

“Oh.”

“Elaine?”

“Um, yes?”

“Concentrate...”

He was reading her mind! Her nipples were aching, distracting her. “I’m sorry. Yes, Sir?”

“When you ask a question, like the one above, you should build into the question a request to ask it, such as, ‘May I ask how you knew I was slumped?’ Either that or in the first place you should ask if you might ask a question. Understand?”

“I think so.”

“Smiles.”

A moment passed and Elaine remembered some of her questions from earlier in the day. “Sir, may I ask you some questions I thought of today?”

“Very good. And yes, you may.”

Trying to arrange her scattered thoughts, Elaine typed, “How does submission and feminism handle their issues?”

“Oh, man. Okay. Someone’s had her thinking cap on. Give me a sec.”

Elaine smiled. In her imagination she saw him scratching his chin. She wondered if he was doing it. Watching the screen intently, she realised she liked talking to him a lot.

“Here’s the thing,” he typed. “Submission allows you to be who you really are. Not everyone is a table thumper. Not men, and not women. Let’s agree there is inequality out there. That’s a given. And I admire those who wish to redress imbalances. But everyone is different. One table thumper may be different to the next. One quiet person may be different from the next. Submission itself is forgiving. Submission allows for individual differences. Submission even allows a woman, or a man, to be both a table thumper and a submissive. Feminism is more strict, frowning on certain practices, one of them being ‘submission to men’. However, a woman submitting to another woman is not frowned upon. And nor is male submission to female dominance. Interesting, don’t you think?”

“Yes. And it brings up another question.”

“Okay, remember it. I’ll finish this answer first.”

Elaine crossed her fingers to remember her question. “Um, Sir?”

“Yes?”

“May I ask if I can get a towel to sit on?” Elaine blushed fiercely. What drove me to ask THAT?

“Sure,” he typed, as though it were a normal request. When Elaine returned in seconds, she read his words. “Within one’s genuine submission, one finds the ability to express oneself and be oneself, with a level of freedom that feminists dream about. When your man or woman cares so deeply for you that he or she will do anything to help you to be who you want to be, then I think a higher level of happiness, as a woman or a man, can be reached.”

“So, within my bonds, I am free?”

“Hmmm... Close. I’d say, within my physical bonds, my mind is free.”

“You’re a philosopher!”

“I’ve been doing some reading too.” He sent a smile.

“You have?”

“Yes. You are into Philosophy. I want to be able to help. So I bought some books.”

Elaine didn’t know what to say. Then it came to her. “Thank you, Sir.”

“My pleasure.”

She shuddered and her pussy clenched. She’d relaxed for just a moment and it had happened before she could stop it. Should I tell him? she wondered. She uncrossed her fingers, thankfully remembering her question. “How are Dommes seen in the lifestyle? And male subs?”

“In a philosophical sense? Or in practical terms?”

“Both.”

“Well, dominance and submission are not gender specific terms. In the whole range of people, races, and creeds in the world, there are those that are more, and less, dominant and submissive. I think this is a defendable truth. There are more and less dominant and submissive women; and there are more and less dominant and submissive men.”

“I understand. Yes, I’ll go along with that.”

“Thanks,” he typed, sending a wink on its heels. Elaine’s cheeks burned. “So to me at least,” he said, before she could apologise, “A submissive’s or Dominant’s respect for the lifestyle determines my respect for them, regardless of gender. One of my friends is a Domme and she is a leading figure in the lifestyle. And I met paper tiger at an event once. His name is Rudi. He’s cool too. Depending on where you meet people, sometimes it’s hard to tell whether they’re Dom or sub.”

“I read somewhere that some are only sub or Dom in the bedroom. Is that possible?”

“I think it is, if we’re just talking about the tools and the role playing. So say tying up or cuffing or blindfolding, pretty mild stuff usually, combined with pretending to be sub and Dom/me, but without a commitment to the lifestyle. Players may have a healthy respect for the lifestyle. They would also respect those who chose it, but for them, they choose not to commit. I imagine such people to be those in powerful positions etc. People whose lives would get in the way of a commitment.”

“That makes sense.”

“Like university students.”

“I’m not ready to commit.” Elaine’s body flushed.

“I know.”

A moment’s silence passed before Elaine could think of what to say. “Thank you for answering some of my questions, Sir. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Can I...” she began, then hesitated. Her skin tingled as she typed. “Can I ask what happens when you confess something?”

“Do you mean, when the Dom/me confesses something? Or when the sub confesses something?”

“Can you talk about the difference, please? Um, and all about it? I need to know.” Elaine almost gasped. Her pussy was getting so hot. She could feel the rough texture of the towel pressing wetly against her. She wanted to squirm so badly. Her nipples nagged her. They throbbed rhythmically with every beat of her heart. And her face was so hot she was afraid to touch it, to know the truth.

I want to tell him!

“Well sure. But let’s step back a bit.”

Elaine gulped, fearing what he might say. She needn’t have worried.

“Confession has to do with being honest. Some confessions are simply ‘telling someone about your day’, or ‘telling someone your plans’, or ‘telling someone how you feel’. They are quite simply informing your partner of what is going on. Both people would do this, on an ongoing basis, in any half-decent relationship. Conversations may follow. Or they might not. This is communication, and without labouring the obvious, communication is essential in any relationship for it to have a future.”

“Agreed,” typed Elaine, her hands shaking.

“So basically, confession is the act of ‘saying what’s on your mind’. But of course, in the lifestyle we don’t call this exchange of information, a confession. What we call ‘a confession’ is a more formal confession, rather than a sharing of everyday events, thoughts or occurrences. This kind of confession, by definition, is difficult to give. It may call on you to be the most honest than you have ever been in your life. It may concern thoughts or deeds that make you feel guilty for not sharing. Or it might concern matters for which you could be punished.”

Elaine swallowed. Can I do it? Can I be honest and confess? “Sir? May I confess something?”

He sent a smile. “It would be my pleasure to hear your confession, Elaine.”

“I feel like I’m in church,” Elaine typed, giggling. She almost bit her tongue when her pussy clenched again.

“Confession is good for the soul. And honesty is its own reward. Knowing you were honest is a good feeling. A really good feeling. Trust me.”

“I trust you.” Elaine said aloud, before remembering to type it. She could hardly breathe. She wanted to squeeze her thighs together so badly. She ached all over!

“Let yourself be yourself,” he typed.

“This is really embarrassing,” Elaine began, thinking she had just made one of her biggest understatements ever. “I really tried not to, but I couldn’t help it. I didn’t mean to,” she confessed awkwardly, her mouth drying up. “I stopped concentrating and I clenched. Twice. And you asked me not to.”

“You’re right. And I appreciate your honesty. You tried hard, so you are forgiven. Relax, Elaine.”

She tried to. A tear came to her eye. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“Why do I feel like this?” Elaine asked, on the verge of tears.

“Like what?”

“Guilty. Like I let you down.”

“You haven’t let me down. You confessed something I imagine you found very difficult to confess. You have pleased me greatly. I’m smiling, Elaine.”

She brightened a little. “Really?”

“Yes. Really.” He sent a smile.

Elaine giggled in relief. “So I’m not in trouble?”

“Noooo. Of course not. Elaine, we’re just chatting, okay? We’ve made no commitment to each other. You may pick and choose when you wish to ‘line up’ with me, to see how I would react, etc. I wouldn’t punish you for what you said. Nor would I punish you if you hadn’t told me. You are not mine to punish.”

“But you would if I were yours.”

“Of course.”

Elaine gulped. “How?”

“I knew you’d ask.”

“Blushes.”

“Chuckles.”

“What’s would you do to me? I’m dying to know.”

“When I send the answer, I’ll allow you five seconds to clench, with your thighs tightly together. Then release the clench and knees six inches apart, okay?”

“Okay. Can I pinch my nipples?” Elaine’s jaw dropped at her own words. Her ears burned

“No. You didn’t ask properly.”

She pouted subconsciously. “Yes, Sir.”

Gary made her wait. The anticipation was making her cross-eyed. Finally his message arrived and she gasped! ”I’d take you over my knee and spank your naughty ass, Elaine. That’s what I’d do. Now clench. Five seconds.”

She did. Hard. And as soon as she did, her eyes closed and she started trembling. She counted to five and shot her eyes and knees open, fearful of actually orgasming.

God, I’d hate confessing that!

“Six inches, remember.”

“Yes,” Elaine said, complying. Her mind drifted off. She was kneeling between his legs, fully clothed. Looking up into his sexy eyes. She wanted to look at his picture again.

“Elaine.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Six inches.”

“Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir.” Her legs had almost drifted together again. She jerked them apart and paid attention, clenching her teeth instead.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes,” Elaine hesitated barely a moment. “I’m just very hot, Sir. Being told what to do is affecting me a lot more than I expected.” Confessing was getting easier.

“Are you able to play?”

“No. I probably won’t until the weekend, when my roommates go out. If they go out.”

“I want you to test your self-control.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I want you to do as I ask, Elaine.”

“I’ll do my best,” she typed, adding a grin.

“Since it’s unlikely you’ll be able to play until the weekend, let’s test your self-control. Elaine, you may not play until the weekend.”

Completely unconsciously, she typed the words that came to mind. “Knowing I am not allowed will only make it harder for me.” She blinked as she read them, completely stunned.

“That’s the point. Prove to me you can control yourself. Do as I asked. Test yourself.”

Elaine read his message four times. It was true. Nothing physical would need to change. He wanted her to think about it differently. He was making it into a test. Already he is testing me. As her hands started to shake again, she realised their relationship was escalating, ratcheting up another level. It was an escalation she hadn’t expected. She was entering unknown territory. She swallowed, then typed, “Yes, Sir.”

“So no matter what opportunities you have, you will not play until Saturday night.”

In bed that night, Elaine’s body was buzzing. Her nipples were sore with the need for her touch and she wasn’t sleepy at all. Lying on her side was out of the question as it stimulated her pussy too much. Even on her back, it fluttered randomly. Her skin glowed. Tomorrow was going to be hell.

Going without underwear wasn’t easy. She’d managed it once, but tomorrow would be a different story. Just the thought of telling Gary she was clenching her pussy made it clench again as she stared at the ceiling.

It’s going to be on my mind allll day. I just know it.

Thinking about sex wasn’t making her tired. Instead she thought about her clothes for tomorrow.

She couldn’t wear her bra again. After wearing it twice, she’d normally toss it in the Laundry Hamper. She’d wear the black halter under her blouse tomorrow, which would leave her light blue tank, the black and white halter and two t-shirt left. She’d wear the black one again tomorrow afternoon after work, and again on Thursday. That left Friday.

She winced.

All she’d have left was the mini. Or her black jeans and she couldn’t wear them again, no way. Not all day. The mini she’d purchased as a victim of fashion. She just knew it would blow up in the wind unless she held it down. Ruing the day she bought it, she remembered why she’d only ever worn it around the apartment.

I’ll go without stockings tomorrow. That way I can wear them on Friday with the damned mini.

She yawned.

God, is tomorrow only Wednesday?

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